


comme l’encens

by Arianne



Series: Kinktober 2019 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Intercrural Sex, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 05:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne
Summary: Estinien rarely wore his helm of late; Aymeric had never been so grateful for it as those times he appeared upon Aymeric’s doorstep—or more truthfully, his windowsill—weary from battle and caked with ash, when Aymeric was able to kiss him without so much as breaking their embrace.





	comme l’encens

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: scent

Estinien rarely wore his helm of late; Aymeric had never been so grateful for it as those times he appeared upon Aymeric’s doorstep—or more truthfully, his windowsill—weary from battle and caked with ash, when Aymeric was able to kiss him without so much as breaking their embrace. The impulse came as a surprise to him, as evidently it did Estinien, who made a low sound and pulled away as though they were again young knights, daring to kiss only to fear their control would fail them.

Aymeric threaded one hand through his hair, and drew him back in.

If he still harbored doubts, Estinien did not voice them. He placed his hands on Aymeric’s hips beneath his coat and stepped closer; when Aymeric made to retreat to bed, Estinien followed without letting go.

“Here?” he asked simply, and upon Aymeric’s nod shucked his armor. Aymeric could choose to call his haste desperation, a match for his own, but it was merely Estinien. Aymeric had been the more timid by far when they had first fully undressed (mere months ago, Aymeric’s vow of chastity discarded), rather than searching hands finding the edges of hems and collars, kisses daring to stray from lips to the edges of Aymeric’s ears. Estinien had long been quick to reveal himself: in battle, in body, if not in matters of the heart.

Long-dried blood which Aymeric could only hope was not his own flaked from Estinien’s armor as he shed each piece, and even stripped his skin bore stark lines caked with dirt and stained rust-brown where his maille left it uncovered. As he settled into bed beside him Aymeric noticed at first his scent, recalling the woods of Cœrthas he had made for all intents and purposes his home: where he and Estinien had met, and where they had shared a first tentative kiss, a mere peck for fear of being caught in what was not then empty snowdrift. Estinien was unbothered being in such a state; Aymeric knew as much. Still, for a planned rendezvous he ever indulged Aymeric, coming to his bed smelling of a cacophony of Aymeric’s own bath oils and soaps, leaving a wet spot on the pillow from his hair on those occasions Aymeric went astride him.

In bed they settled side by side, Estinien laughing with as much gentleness as he ever mustered, “You are desperate, aren’t you?” His hand wound around Aymeric’s waist, pulled his shirt loose to hold him at the small of his back, calluses rough and his flesh still chilled from the night’s air. Aymeric’s own returned to Estinien’s hair; tangled, it caught in Aymeric’s fingers as he raked them through. Estinien made quick work to divest Aymeric of what clothes he could, Aymeric following with his boots and trousers, and again they again came together, only seconds spent apart.

“Yes,” Aymeric agreed simply. This was not a night that he would have Estinien’s voice low in his ear, growling prayers and curses in equal measure, promises and demands, _tell me what you will have of me, Aymeric_ until Aymeric pled to be fucked in so many words. For all he longed for such when he could not have it, with Estinien in his arms he felt not its lack: he curled the length of his body around Estinien’s back, this the only time Estinien would indulge him the impulse he seemed to so resolutely avoid in the battles they had fought side by side. Then Estinien had been certain of his invincibility, bolstered (or so he believed) by the eye of Nidhogg; now that such notions had been thoroughly disproven, Aymeric dreaded to think he acts no differently, jumping into danger with little path to victory and less concern for his own protection.

Aymeric had no sooner pressed his cock between the clutch of Estinien’s thighs when Estinien reached behind him to grab his wrist. “Wait,” he said, and at once Aymeric stopped even the hand that fell across the expanse of Estinien’s chest. Relaxing his hand, Estinien pulled his wrist across their bodies. He cupped the back of Aymeric’s hand in his palm, as though he would enlace their fingers—and spit in it. 

“_What_ even—”

“It’s better when it’s slick, and you seem as if you’d rather not search for oil,” Estinien said, as though it explained his acting like a beast in Aymeric’s own apartments, in the bed they would share.

“In that much you’re correct,” Aymeric admitted, and though he grimaced, he rocked his hips into the hot grip of Estinien’s hand—and when Estinien reached behind himself and led him back to his thighs it was made all the better for the bit of aid. He bowed his head in symbolic defeat, and pressed his lips to the base of Estinien’s neck through his hair.

“_Oh_,” he said aloud.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing,” Aymeric insisted. He shook his head, tucked where it was into Estinien’s nape. “It’s—you haven’t washed it.”

“If you’d rather—” and already the corded muscles in Estinien’s back tensed, readying to withdraw to correct his perceived misstep.

“No,” Aymeric pled, “stay here—” and at once Estinien relaxed, acquiescing this much, letting Aymeric hold him and thrust against him and spend between his thighs. He did not seek to clean the mess, but laid still as Aymeric buried his nose in the thick of his hair and breathed deep of him, licked the sweat from his skin beneath (so much heavier now that he no longer tied his hair up off his neck), drank in what he could of Estinien’s scent, _drowned_ in it.

Estinien had not had his pleasure, nor even sought it. Aymeric would fain invite him to take it within his body wherever Estinien so chose, rough that he may feel it for days; and when Estinien has left—as he always will—Aymeric for another night would not have the sheets laundered, in order that their bed might smell like him.

**Author's Note:**

> “I bet I can kill it before it kills me” -Estinien, killed by it


End file.
